Fancy That

Flaktar entered the great senate hall dressed in his Fuztonian best. His entourage followed close behind, their own attire mimicking yet not exceeding his outfit’s grandeur. His fat grey slimy head stuck out from his tight collar, which was decorated with a series of interwoven squares and triangles. The same pattern ran down in stripes on the sides of his cloak. On his forehead was fastened the glorious gold star, a flat three pointed symbol of utmost importance in their culture, designed by one of their planet’s greatest artists. It signified his wealth and station. He trotted forward in his squishy brown boots, each adorned with more squares and triangles. His entourage squished along behind him in their own fancy, yet slightly less decorated, footwear.

Suddenly the diplomatic envoy from the recently accepted and assimilated planet, Earth entered the hall from behind them and with great fanfare. The Fuztonians spun around to see the humans approaching fast. The Earthlings all wore wide smiles. Not one of the grey headed aliens from Fuztone could speak a word. They had never seen such art as this.

The entire senate hall buzzed with excitement as dozens of species marvelled at the appearance of the human race. Until now the Fuztonians had been the most artistically creative beings known to the galactic collective. Until now.

The twelve representatives of humankind were only adorned in their own latest fashion, and might only be defined back on Earth as being dressed “business contemporary” at best.

The leader stepped forward, her intricately decorated red leather suit shining and creaking as she moved, the silver zippers and clasps tinkling lightly like beautiful gossamer chains. Around her half meter tall snow white mohawk her tanned head and face were covered in a maze of beautifully tattooed filagree. She extended a tanned and gloriously tattooed hand in greeting, every finger adorned with a heavily decorated ring. As she spoke in galactic common her voice was like music.

“The people of Earth thank you for accepting us into your collective. Please join us at the bar for a drink.”

Behind her the other humans stepped forward, all of them as beautifully adorned and garishly decorated as their spokesperson. They all held forward heavily tattooed and ring fingered hands in friendly greeting.

Slowly the fat grey Fuztonians shrugged their wide shoulders and began squishing along beside their beautiful hosts. They would go to the bar and drink with these amazing beings. And as they made their way, bringing up the rear, one Fuztonian turned to another and whispered, “It is apparent that we are no longer the masters of the galaxy.”